Lü Yazhi was really anxious.
The daughter insisted on raising her three children and was willing to do anything to earn money for their medical treatment.
But what help could she, as a mother, possibly offer?
Even if she has memories of her past life, so what?
Not only can I not help my daughter, but now she has to spend money to support her as well.
Lu Yazhi was also worried that Xiao Sanbao would drag Wen Qiao down.
Is my daughter really going to follow the same path as in my previous life?
Must someone so young die?
Lü Yazhi felt increasingly distressed, yet there was nothing she could do.
She resented that she couldn't help her daughter, and that she had memories of her past life but couldn't offer any assistance when it mattered most.
Wen Qiao went up and hugged her mother.
She said softly, "Mom, you've done very well. It was my fault before dinner; I shouldn't have said those things. Don't I know whether you favor boys over girls? I spoke without thinking."
"Don't be too anxious. Now that we have a clearer direction for Xiao Sanbao's illness, we can't come up with the money for treatment all at once, but we can take it slowly."
"Little by little, I'll do my best. If I really reach a dead end, I'll accept it."
Lu Yazhi suddenly looked at her daughter and said very seriously:
“Xiao Qiao, I had a dream. I dreamt that you were being bullied and you came back to my hometown crying to find me, but I was powerless to help you.”
"Mom also dreamed that you had a little girl, really, she looked just like Xiao Sanbao in the dream. That child didn't survive, and my daughter, you won't survive either."
After much deliberation, Lü Yazhi finally spoke up.
She didn't know why she wanted to tell her daughter, but she just wanted to let Wen Qiao know about the tragic life of her daughter Wen Qiao in Lü Yazhi's dream.
Perhaps, once the daughter finds out, she will know how to cope and change her fate.
Upon hearing this, Wen Qiao wanted to ask her mother if she was also reborn.
But my mother kept repeating that it was a dream.
This made Wen Qiao afraid to ask any more questions.
She knew she had been reborn; it wasn't a dream at all.
Could it be that everything she is experiencing now is just a hallucination or delusion from her previous life before she died?
At this moment, Wen Qiao was unable to clearly perceive that she was living in a vibrant and real world.
It was still in a fantasy she had before her tragic death in her previous life.
If it's all just fantasy, then why would she fantasize about her sick little daughter?
Wouldn't it be better if all three children were healthy?
After comforting her mother, Wen Qiao returned to the house, turned to look at her sleeping daughter, and seriously considered the problem.
She fell asleep without realizing it.
I don't know if it was because of what my mother said, or if she was also creating a dream.
Suddenly, the scene her mother described appeared in her dream.
She stood there in a dilapidated house, looking utterly lost and heartbroken, weeping uncontrollably, dressed in tattered and filthy clothes, looking worse than a beggar on the street.
That was the most remote and dilapidated room in the Wang family compound. It was hot in summer, cold in winter, and leaked when it rained. It was also drafty.
She hanged herself in that room in her past life.
In her dream, however, she did not yet contemplate suicide.
She looked at herself in her dream as if she were an outsider, her swollen belly hidden in her worn and loose clothes, her long hair tangled and scattered behind her shoulders and on her chest.
In the blink of an eye, she saw that she was bleeding heavily from below.
Not long after, he saw his panicked mother, hugged her, and called her name.
After seeing the bloody thing she gave birth to, she cried and scolded her.
Wen Qiao tried hard to hear what her mother was saying, but she couldn't make out anything.
Suddenly, I heard a child crying.
Wen Qiao woke up suddenly and instinctively hugged the child next to her, lifting her clothes to feed him.
Only then did she remember.
The little one rarely cries, or even doesn't cry at all...
Wen Qiao turned on the bedside lamp, sat up, and looked carefully at her daughter who was nursing with her eyes closed in her arms.
Was that the baby crying just now?
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